


Husk

by SuiCausa



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: AU, Aftermath of Torture, Angst, Bad Ending, Bas-Saarebas, Betrayal, M/M, Mythal's Puppet, Qunari, So much angst, pain and suffering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-20
Updated: 2015-08-20
Packaged: 2018-04-16 07:31:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4616685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SuiCausa/pseuds/SuiCausa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hissrad betrayed them all, but Lavellan, brought to heel under the Qunari's control suffered the worst of it. By the time he was rescued months had passed, and now they must live with the burden that what they rescued is only an empty husk.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Husk

**Author's Note:**

  * For [VulpusTumultum](https://archiveofourown.org/users/VulpusTumultum/gifts).



> So if you haven't read any of the "Iron Bull was still loyal to the qun" head canons floating around: http://suicausa.tumblr.com/post/116570740523/so-hissrad
> 
> This is what everything is based on, entirely VulpusTumultum's fault, and this horrible plot bunny has been lurking in my head for ages. Instead of writing a multi-chapter story out of it, I decided to just do a quick drabble and basically write the worst possible ending, so that I could move on and stop thinking about it.
> 
> And decided to post it here to share with everyone! Be warned, there's really nothing happy or fluffy about any of this. This is also 100% an AU for my OT3 series, because Lavellan will never drink from the well of sorrows, and Iron Bull will never be Hissrad and because I can't take this much pain ever again.

He hadn’t hadn’t seen or heard anyone other than his guard in over a fortnight, the pattern of footfalls didn’t match, more people than necessary to simply bring him food.

Krem had been down once, shortly after Hissrad had been locked up, looking for answers. He’d left with closure, at least, but no one else had come to see him. Understandable, but did nothing to explain his unexpected visitors.

He got up from where he was sitting, standing by the bars of his cell as he watched the entrance to the dungeon. He was the only one down here leaving no doubt of who they were coming to see, Lavellan had never been fond of the idea of keeping people locked away when they could serve some other purpose. It had been very qunari of him, but such an observation was not appreciated anymore.

He was surprised by the two that came down the stairs, though he knew it didn’t show.

Dorian led the Inquisitor by a firm grip on his hand, watching anxiously as the elf came down the stairs, posture clear that he was ready to catch him if he stumbled. For the most part he looked the same, perhaps a little more Tevinter than before, with dark leather and gold inlay, a dark fur coat around his shoulders to keep out the cold. He didn’t survey the area with distaste, didn’t complain about coming down here, didn’t even cast a look in Hissrad’s direction, focused so entirely on the elf he was guiding.

Lavellan...looked good. He had always looked good, but even now he caused a stir deep inside that would never be appropriate. He was dressed impeccably, obviously Dorian’s hand had been involved. His jacket was fur lined with ornate leatherwork on the cuffs and collars, the buckles at his throat polished to a shine. His hair was pulled back into a high braid that fell down his shoulder so perfectly it's obviously been placed, his pants a supple, expensive leather, his boots probably worth more than a house in Denerim.

His skin was so pale it was like porcelain, soft and cared for, brushed with the perfect amount of powder to add a healthy glow to his cheeks, make him look like an ornate doll, a collector’s item to be cherished and handled only with the utmost care.

Nothing could hide the fact that the doll was damaged. Eyes that had been the most vivid of greens and full of wicked delight were nothing but a milky swirl, staring ahead without focus, completely useless. His expression was slack, blank, and as Dorian murmured directions to him he didn’t respond, didn’t react, simply followed like a puppet on a string.

The scars across his lips couldn’t be healed, his sight would never come back, but none of it mattered because Lavellan was only a husk.

The blame was on Hissrad’s head, his punishment prison until Lavellan recovered and could sentence him himself.

It’d been months. By the tightness in Dorian’s posture, they knew he would never recover.

He opened his mouth to speak, but Dorian held up a hand abruptly to silence him, glaring daggers at him. “Don’t say a _word._ ” He spat, so much venom in his voice that Hissrad could feel it sting across his skin. Dorian stopped then, face twisting into frustration as he laid a gentle hand on Lavellan’s arm, forcing the anger from him.

“ _Amatus._ ” He said softly, pressed a hand to Lavellan’s cheek, such tender affection that at one time had been returned to him two-fold. Lavellan’s attention did not move, Hissrad didn’t think it ever did. “I doubt you want to ever see him again, we know how hard it must be. But maybe it will help. It’s worth a try.” Dorian’s words were soft but there was so much pain in his voice that even Hissrad looked away.

Dorian took a step to Lavellan’s side then, guided him forward with a touch to his elbow. The elf stepped forward as prompted, stopping before the bars of Hissrad’s cell, and stared blankly within.

‘ _He’s blind, they took his sight when they took his voice, before the mask went on.’_ He wanted to say. They’d found him bound as he’d been for storage on Seheron, collared and chained, muzzled and masked like the dangerous thing he was. Hissrad had towered in front of him, furious they’d been cornered. Lavellan simply stood where he’d been dragged, oblivious to everything, unaware his Arvaarad had been killed with the rest of his unit, that Hissrad had cut his chain and lead him away from the fighting. He’d had no idea that the knife in Hissrad’s hand had been meant for him, that the three bolts through the qunari’s shoulder from Varric’s crossbow had been all that stopped him from ending Lavellan’s existance.

‘ _You should have let me kill him.’_ Hissrad had roared as Lavellan was swept away from his gaze, the Tevinter steel of Dorian’s staff blade at his throat. _‘He’s already gone. There’s nothing left.’_

They hadn’t known how bad it was. They hadn’t read the reports Hissrad had, were so blinded by joy to see him whole that they didn’t notice he wasn’t there at all.

It hadn’t been Qaamek, in fact very little had been done to the elf whose anger had been replaced with depression far too early. One day, the brands in Lavellan’s bindings containing his magic had simply ceased to function, as if all magic inside the elf had been snuffed out. What little resistance he’d still been displaying disappeared. He broke -- the severity of the break was barely understood. Nobody could figure out how the elf hadn’t simply died.

That wasn’t true. Hissrad knew, but if he’d said anything the husk would have been executed on the spot. The mark on his hand was still functional, he could still serve his purpose.

The sacrifices wouldn’t be for nothing.

Now Hissrad's failure was a festering wound that could not be closed. How long would Dorian stay at Lavellan's side? Bathe him? Groom him? Dress him up and take him out? How long would Dorian wait for a spark of recognition or the sound of his lover's voice, the feel of his touch? How long would the Inquisition pray for the recovery of their Herald?

It would be better if he was in the ground with his blood staining Hissrad's hands forever, than staring blankly at his betrayer without the slightest recognition. None of the hurt or fury that Hissrad had packed down and compartmentalized, never to be examined too closely. None of the soft affection, outright lust that had given the re-educators a run for their money.

Several minutes passed, Dorian looking everywhere but into the cell, waiting at his charge's side with tension steadily building higher and higher.

Finally he cracked, giving Hissrad a pleading look. "Say something." He ordered, but his voice broke.

The qunari wanted to state that it was pointless, wanted to shake the mage for his blindness. There had been a time that he'd whispered obscenities into that caramel skin, that he'd extracted breathless reverence from the lips now twisted in pain. Once he couldn’t have considered refusing such a plea from this man.

Perhaps this was his debt to pay, so he shuffled to the center of the bars and composed himself to speak out to the doll-like creature in front of him.

"Kadan." He whispered, angry with himself at how his voice broke on the familiar term, the feelings of what felt like a lifetime ago poured into it. He forced himself to continue. "You look good, Kadan."

Lavellan made no move, no response. He stared blankly forward and Hissrad tried not to notice the way Dorian's hands shook as he clenched them into fists at his side. After a few more moments, Hissrad finally let out a heavy sigh. "He's gone, Dorian."

The sudden chill of magic shocked both Dorian and Hissrad, the brands of Mythal across Lavellan's face suddenly flaring to light blue, the milk of his eyes picking up on the glow as _magic_ returned to the elf. It wasn't Lavellan's magic, the way Dorian's hand moved to hover over the staff at his back showed that he noticed it too.

"He screamed your name until his throat was bloody." Lavellan spoke, but the voice was not his own. It wasn't any single persons, it belonged to the same being that Lavellan's body did now.

The only thing that benefited from Hissrad's failure was the Well of Sorrows.

" _Amatus._ " Dorian gasped, grabbing Lavellan's arm. He was completely ignored, those sightless eyes were focused entirely on Hissrad. The qunari's skin crawled, the pit of his gut filled with something wrong and sick.

"He cried until there were no more tears left to fall. He looked for you in every doorway. They took his eyes, so he would not know that you were the one holding his tether."

The voices of Mythal's servants, arcane and impersonal, yet so absolutely cutting with their accusation, Hissrad's only comfort that Lavellan could not see him flinch, could not see him cringing away from the bars of his cell.

"Amatus!" Dorian practically whimpered. The guilt that Hissrad felt had to be nothing compared to the man who had been unable to save Lavellan from his fate. Hissrad wanted to tell Dorian to go, but Lavellan was still talking.

"Alone in darkness he prayed that you would rescue him, that you wouldn't truly forsake him."

Lavellan took a sure step forward, nothing like the hesitant directed steps he'd been taking for so long. This one was of his own will, not someone else's instruction.

With Lavellan's face inches from the bars, his expression turned into something of pain and despair. A haunting imprint of the last thing he’d felt before he stopped feeling at all.

"You left him to die." Lavellan accused. "And so he did."

Dorian's choked off sob was everything Hissrad fought down, his teeth gritting hard enough together that his jaw ached, his eye burned with _something_ and he cursed that well and the elven bitch of a god that had taken Lavellan's body once the elf had died, that would never let him have peace.

"Amatus!" Dorian's voice was a broken sob as he collapsed to his knees, forehead pressed to Lavellan's thigh as the light from his brand, from his eyes disappeared. "No! Bring him back! Don't leave him like this!" Dorian yelled, and Hissrad couldn’t block out the pain that ripped through his chest. Trapped inside this cage, no purpose, no future, nothing but the ache of the consequences of his failure, he despaired.

"You should have let me kill him." He finally whispered, before retreating to the shadows of his cell to leave the 'vint to his misery. Lavellan's husk stared blankly ahead, oblivious to the world.

 


End file.
